


Right Turn at Wonderland

by sleepycryptid



Category: Castlevania (Cartoon), 悪魔城ドラキュラ | Castlevania Series
Genre: Fluff, I’m just writing these as I come up with them, Modern reader in the fifteenth century, More friends to lovers I guess, Ooh is this what isekai is, Other, because oopsie?, but it might not stay strictly chronological so who knows, don’t think it counts as slowburn but you’re both clueless, some angst sprinkled in, someone needs to keep him company so he doesn’t go crazy, starts from season 2 ending
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:27:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26805859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepycryptid/pseuds/sleepycryptid
Summary: Al needs some friends, and you’re happy to oblige.
Relationships: Alucard (Castlevania)/Reader, Alucard (Castlevania)/You, Alucard | Adrian Tepes | Arikado Genya/Reader, Alucard | Adrian Tepes | Arikado Genya/You
Comments: 26
Kudos: 117





	1. Kindred

**Author's Note:**

> Oneshots are easier than fullblown fics, and mine is driving me crazy right now so I’m writing these in between. Enjoy? :)

You find yourself thinking that you aren’t really supposed to be here. 

It’s isn’t an uncommon thought, not by any means. You’d stumbled through a magic mirror, through time and space and a million things you would probably never understand for as long as you live, and landed on your ass in the fifteenth century—surrounded by evil vampires and bloodthirsty demons and people who could fling magic fire with merely a thought. Your being here is entirely an accident, and watching the way your three companions interact with each other so simply—as if they’d known each other for decades rather than days—only serves to drive that point home. 

Trevor and Sypha have assumed up to this point that you’d be coming with them. They’ve been gathering supplies for the past few days while recovering from the fight with Dracula, and you’ve allowed Sypha to ramble excitedly about all the things you would do and the places you would see. 

She’d perhaps been the most welcoming of the three. She tells you it’s because you’re a welcome relief from the constant bickering between the other two. She enjoys your dry wit and the jokes you tell at the boys’ expense when they’re too busy firing shots at each other to hear you. 

Trevor has been teaching you how to throw a proper punch and to handle a blade in a way that doesn’t threaten to impale you before your opponent, and you can feel the warmth of his fondness for you that had grown over the short time you’d been with them even through his gruffness and blunt instruction. 

Adrian...well, it’s always been a little difficult to read Adrian. 

Oftentimes he is off somewhere, alone with his thoughts, or hovering in the background like a ghost. Usually when he had spoken to you before, it had been about practical things. At the time, you’d crashed right into the middle of their quest to put an end to his father, and it had been painfully obvious how ill equipped you’d been to help them in the traditional sense. He’d wanted to make sure you knew how to stay safe in the midst of battle, sticking close to them but also never getting in their way. A dutiful protector. 

Of course you’d appreciated it, but you’d mourned how distant it made him seem. You’d sensed a kindred spirit within him—somewhere inside he feels as out of place as you do. 

Now that the work is done, the most you get from him is polite, if a bit detached, conversation. 

“Something’s on your mind.” 

You find yourself in a vast library, so lost in your thoughts that you’d been turning the pages of your book more out of habit than for having finished reading them. You don’t notice him until he speaks. 

When you turn to him, you find those golden eyes affixed to you in an almost curious fashion. The way the low light catches them makes them gleam like a cat’s. 

“Oh...hey, Alucard.” You nod at the chair beside you, “Care to join me?” 

You don’t miss the way he tilts his head a fraction to the side, as if mildly surprised by your offer. You smile a little to show you mean it, and after a moment he decides to indulge you. 

“I was unaware you knew french.” He says, casually, and nods to the book in your hands when you seem confused. 

“Ah,” sure enough, the words are not in English. You try to hide a flush, grinning bashfully. “Not any more than what I learned in High School, sorry to say. But I had you fooled for a moment didn’t I?” 

He doesn’t laugh, but gives you a sort of fading smile to acknowledge your attempt at humor. 

He rests his elbow on the arm of the chair, tilting his head to perch his chin against his knuckles as he observes you. The way his pale hair slips over his shoulders as he moves reminds you of silk. 

It’s a little unfair, how he needn’t even try and suddenly he’ll look as if he’d been painted by Raphael or sculpted by Michelangelo. A simple shift in posture and he is the envy of every work of art hanging on the walls of museums back home. 

“One doesn’t normally pick out books one can’t even read.” He remarks, an elegant brow arching ever-so slightly. “What has you so distracted?” 

“The page turning gives my hands something to do.” You murmur shyly, compelled to give a reason lest you look even more like a fool without one. “I’ve just...been thinking...”

“Yes, we’ve established that much, at least.” 

You cut your eyes at him, mouth slanting downwards until he smiles again, relentingly. 

“Don’t you think it’s a little odd—that Sypha and Trevor expect me to go with them?” 

“And what’s so odd about it?” He wonders. 

“I’m not exactly a fighter...” 

You only realize that his previous smiles haven’t been reaching his eyes when this one makes them sparkle with mirth. He doesn’t have to say anything, then, you’re already frowning at him. 

“Put your face away.” You tell him, stern. This actually coaxes a laugh out of him, although the sound is almost...reluctant. Despite that, it’s still lovely enough to make your cheeks warm. 

“I’m only saying that it feels as though I’ll just get in the way. We didn’t really have a choice when it came to the fight with Dracula—“ you don’t miss the almost imperceptible flinch he gives at the mention, “—but now it’s beginning to feel a little ridiculous. I don’t want anyone to feel as though they need to babysit me.” 

“Or perhaps you’re only trying to get out of being cramped in that wagon.” 

You relent to his teasing with a laugh. 

“God...don’t even get me started on what a third-wheel I’d be.” 

“I certainly wouldn’t envy you.” 

You think you’re beginning to like the sound your laughs make when they mingle together in the air. When it dies out you’re left in comfortable, friendly silence. He hasn’t taken his eyes off of you this entire time, but somehow his gaze isn’t stifling or nerve wracking. You glance upward towards the elegant high ceilings of the library and exhale softly, as if your worries are helium balloons you can just let go of. Let them float up and away. 

“I just don’t want to keep dragging you all down. Sometimes I feel so bad that you just sort of got stuck with me.” 

“No one feels that way.” His voice is soft but surprisingly firm. You look at him and there’s no trace of untruth in his eyes, and he’s straightened up out of his casual slouch in his sincerity. “You’re no burden. You don’t need to know how to fight vampires and night creatures to have value to us.” 

You swallow past a sudden lump in your throat, heart swelling. 

He’s the last member of your group you would’ve expected to hear something like that from. You wouldn’t have described the two of you as close, but his words resonate with you. 

You find yourself hugging your knees to your chest, all at once feeling very vulnerable. 

Maybe, you think, he’d sensed a kindred spirit within you, too. 

“Hey, Alucard?” You begin, hesitantly, voice meek. “Do you think...that I could stay here?” 

———

You try to stifle the sting of guilt when Sypha’s eyes begin to water. She’s smiling, though, wider than maybe you’ve ever seen—which is saying something for this particular speaker magician. 

Before you can even open your mouth to speak, she’s pulled you into a bone-crushing hug that threatens to squeeze the very life out of you. 

“I know we’ll meet again some day.” She whispers into your hair as you find the strength to squeeze her back. “Until then...take good care of him.” 

“Ah, you know me...” you offer awkwardly, a wry smile on your face as the two of you break apart. 

Trevor claps you heartily on the back, making you cough even as you smile grows into a grin. 

“I suppose someone has to look after the mopey bastard.” 

“Fuck off, Belmont.” Adrian, who has been standing solemnly off to the side until now, scoffs and crosses his arms. Kind of like a mopey bastard...

“Neither of you seem to have taken into account that I am perfectly capable of caring for myself.” 

Trevor and Sypha exchange meaningful looks. Instead of saying anything that may agitate him more, Sypha opts to throw her arms around him next. 

“...Be safe.” He mutters after a moment, patting her back gently, looking achingly sad. “Don’t let that fool drag you into too much trouble.” 

“I’ll be sure to drag  _ him _ into just enough.” 

They share a quiet laugh as Adrian assists her up onto the front of the wagon, beside where Trevor has already taken his place. There’s a momentary exchange where Trevor offers him a friendly wave and Adrian amiably flips him off in return. You watch with a somber smile. 

You feel you have made the right choice, but that doesn’t make watching your friends ride away any easier. You both stand there for a long while afterwards, side by side, in silence. 

Then Adrian’s knuckles brush yours, and you look to see him watching you with an inscrutable look in his eyes. He smiles, just barely, and turns to head inside. 

With only one thing to do, you follow. 


	2. For a Little While

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obligatory weepy chapter, because we love a sensitive boi.

You think after you find him that perhaps he didn’t want to be found. 

He’s bent over himself, elbows braced against his knees and hands clasped behind his head as his shoulders shake with tremors violent enough that at first you worry he is seizing. 

Even so, he is silent. 

Vampire by half, you know he has realized you are there—whether by the sound of your steps or the beat of your heart. He knows and is yet too wrecked to do much else than hide his face from you as he weeps. 

He probably doesn’t want me here, you think helplessly. And then a moment later, How could I possibly leave? 

Your first step into the room is cautious, like approaching a cornered animal. The second step is easier, and after the third when he hasn’t yet snapped at you to leave or even moved to acknowledge your presence, you find the courage to sweep towards him and lower yourself to your knees so you can close gentle hands around his straining arms. 

It only takes a couple soothing strokes to loosen his grip. His fingers release the fistfuls of hair he’d been clutching, hands moving away from his head so he can tilt it upwards at you. 

It is easy to be alone with one’s grief, you realize. Easy to run and hide the moment you feel it’s tendrils begin to squeeze at your heart. It is harder to ask for help that hasn’t yet been offered. 

You drag the pads of your thumbs in little crescent moons under his eyes, and when you hold his face in your hands he leans into your touch. 

“Just tell me what you need me to do.” 

He gives something of a watery smile, breath stuttering in his chest as he inhales sharply through his nose. 

“You’re here. That’s already more than I could ask of you.” He croaks, and it sounds as though he has been here for a while. Then he sighs, “I’m a mess.” 

“Given the circumstances, you have every right.” 

That earns you a self-deprecating smirk. 

“Others would just tell me how many lives I’ve saved—that I should be glad to be a hero.” 

“‘I saved the world and all I got was this decrepit old castle’.” You make an attempt at his slow, melodious way of speaking. His laugh is more of a quick exhale. The way the smile stretches his cheeks makes you realize you are still cradling him in your hands like a baby bird. You slip your sleeves over your fists so you can dry his face and he lets you, surprisingly enough. “It’s not as though people are exactly lining up to thank you. You’d think someone would at least send a fruit basket.” 

“Perhaps they got the address wrong,” He suggests, patting your hand affectionately—if a bit awkwardly—when his cheeks are dry. “It was a  _ moving _ castle, until recently.” You snort. 

Taking the hint, you let your hands fall. He takes a moment to fully collect himself, which gives you the opportunity to look around the room. The castle is huge, and has many, which means it stands to reason that many rooms would serve much the same purpose. 

This one in particular seems to be another family room. Aside from the chair Adrian occupies, grand and well cushioned, there’s a chaise lounge sitting between it and its twin. With two large arched windows there is an abundance of natural light, and a fireplace for later in the day. And you’re beginning to understand that no room is complete here without at least one neatly arranged bookcase. 

“I think we’ve found your new favorite room.” Adrian has gotten to his feet, and is watching you with interest. “For however long that lasts, at least. I suppose you still haven’t seen much.” 

You smile, “Why don’t you give me a tour?” 

You aren’t quite keen on just ditching him so soon. If this place is to be your home, too, perhaps he can distract himself by showing it to you. 

“You can tell me about your childhood.” You add stepping closer. “Your parents.” 

For a moment, his eyes drop to the floor, and when he raises them again they dart out the window as if the shame and embarrassment is only just now hitting him all at once. 

“You’ve met my father,” he replies, solemn once more. He seems unwilling to concede so easily to your attempts at cheering him up, but you are stubborn. 

“I met  _ Dracula _ .” You reply, “Even I know that isn’t the same thing.” 

A corner of his mouth twitches upward for the briefest moment. 

“Talking about them won’t bring them back.” 

You’re already halfway to the door, glancing over your shoulder at him. Your smile is more in your eyes than anywhere else. 

“Won’t it? Just for a little while?” 

His eyes hold yours for a very long time, then. Inch by inch, he softens into a thoughtful smile. You hold out your hand for him and he takes it, running a thumb along your knuckles. 

It’s hours till dinner time, and the two of you spend every minute wandering the halls of Castlevania. The warmth in his voice paints all the dark corners in sunlight, and you find yourself wondering if love isn’t its own kind of magic.


	3. Pic-A-Nic Basket

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A nice day out with your favorite vamp.

“What’s all this, then?” 

You flop heavily down onto the picnic blanket you’d set up half an hour earlier. The air is mild today, just warm enough that you didn’t need to bring your sweatshirt. The sun dances between the leaves cheerfully, and it lifts your mood to the clouds above. 

You’re glad no animals decided to bother your picnic basket while you’d gone to retrieve your companion—in hindsight perhaps you could’ve dealt with the lack of surprise to avoid the risk altogether. 

“Wanted to eat outside, but I got worried about bears.” You lean back on your palms, grinning up at him over your shoulder. “Figured vampire beats bear. Well— _ half _ vampire.” 

He can tell you are joking—you know from the way his eyes sparkle with amusement—which is an improvement over the first week you’d been living together. Something warm settles in your chest at the idea of slowly becoming familiar with each other’s mannerisms, of being able to read each other like friends do; there had been a time where you’d felt as if the underlying awkwardness would never fade. 

He tilts his head at you and his hair waterfalls over one shoulder, catching the light in a way that makes it look as if it is glowing. 

“Unless I’m misremembering—using me as a personal bodyguard was something of a sore point for you until recently.” 

“And you told me not to worry about it,” you lie back all the way and fold your arms casually under your head, “so I’m choosing to enjoy it.” 

“I’m not entirely sure this is what I had in mind.” 

“Beggars can’t be choosers, Goldilocks.” 

He sighs, no doubt in response to your brand new favorite term of endearment, and settles beside you on the ground. You watch him, noting how every movement serves to make him seem weightless—floating gently on air.

Really, earlier today you’d realized that it marks a month since you’d decided to stay here with him, and you’d wanted to do something to commemorate the start of your time together. You’ve noticed how Adrian seems to enjoy the outdoors; whenever you had accompanied him out to town or to forage in the woods he would seem so at peace, and you can never help but wonder if the castle must get stifling for him. 

In any case, he hadn’t seemed to mind when you’d insisted on dragging him out by the hand and leading him to this little clearing you’d found. 

When he tilts his head back to catch a bit of sunlight along his face, eyes fluttering shut contentedly, you feel as though this had been a good choice after all. You don’t even think he realizes the way his expression softens, his muscles lose their seemingly inborn tension, his lips curl gently upwards. 

You think it’s a shame that you can’t sketch him, the way he looks right now—lithe body all stretched out with catlike grace. And then you realize you’re staring and your heart flutters a bit when you wonder if he could have possibly noticed. You busy yourself with digging through the basket and setting out the simple sandwiches and fruits you’d prepared. 

The slosh of the wine bottle finally has him cracking an eyelid in your direction. 

Regardless of your own preferences, you’d realized that this bottle is one he favors lately and you hadn’t wanted to forget it. 

“How thoughtful,” he hums, almost amused, as you hand him a glass. 

“Well, I’m nothing if not considerate.” 

He watches you from the corner of his eye as he sips. Pensive, calculating. You meet his gaze head on and smile through a bite of your sandwich. 

“Problem?” 

“No problem, no,” he replies, letting his drink swirl in the glass, studying the hypnotic ripples. “Just wondering what’s gotten into you.” 

“Must it be so drastic?” You ponder, tilting your head. “You’ve seemed awfully morose lately, and I wanted us to do something fun.” 

He glances suddenly off to the side, cheeks coloring slightly, face bashful. Had he really expected you not to notice? 

“Ah,” is all he says, clearing his throat. He smiled shyly. “Well I apologize for making you worry. It’s nice to get out of my own head for a while.” 

“See?” You hum through a grin, smug, “ _ Considerate _ .” 

“And humble.” He tosses a berry at you, which bounces off your lip when you try to catch it in your mouth. He gives a genuine laugh when you pluck it off the blanket with a huff and toss it into the air to try again. 

You succeed the second time around, but it nearly lodges itself in your throat for your trouble. 

“...Talented.” You cough, adding to the growing list of your traits. 

“Foolhardy.” He smirks, and then holds out his wine glass, “Care to wash it down?” 

You accept his offer and try to ignore the way your skin tingles when your fingers brush his. 

It’s a beautiful day, you marvel quietly to yourself, smiling into his glass. You’re glad to share it with him. 

  
  



	4. What Lovely Fur You Have

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I guess you could say he’s a...dog person. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m a weak hoe and I like buppy :,)

You are an adult. This is fact.

You’re an adult, and as such you’ve learned some level of self control. Perhaps it is something you could even bring yourself to be proud of, this ability to reign in some of your more instinctual urges and inclinations.

You. Are an  _adult_ .

But even adults have limits.  


“ _**Puppy!!** _ ” 

Adrian pins his ears down against the unholy shriek, bringing his giant paws up over his head in that way you’ve sometimes seen dogs do when you bother them too much and they’d like nothing more than for you to go  away . 

It’s gotten cold outside—so cold that frost lays a fine coat of white over just about anything stationary—and though you opt to stay inside more often than not, you know that sometimes Adrian must venture out for things such as firewood. 

He hadn’t been around earlier today; you’d occupied yourself by searching the Belmont hold for a few particular books you’d been curious about as of late. You don’t know if Adrian is particularly aware of how much time you’d been spending down there since he’d constructed that lift and cleaned it out a bit, but you’re fairly sure he wouldn’t mind, anyway. 

When you find him curled up in wolf form before a raging fire in the hearth, you figure outside is just where he’d been all this time. Dhampirs are resilient as vampires in many ways, but Adrian has made it clear that he still doesn’t enjoy the cold. 

He flinches away slightly when you rush over and plop down beside him at near the speed of sound, seemingly not trusting that you won’t let out another of your deadly squeals. Instead, you only grin blindingly wide and stroke a hand over his thick, sleek coat of fur. 

“What a pretty boy...” you coo with a little laugh and get a displeased grumble in return for your affections. His fur is still terribly cold, probably not doing much for his mood, but it is getting easier to poke fun at him without worrying about crossing lines. “The prettiest, grumpiest boy.” 

Something thumps against your back. His tail, you realize with a glance, and you snort. He stares pointedly into the fire, paws creeping over his snout again. He looks almost bashful that way. 

“Okay, okay,” you relent, still smiling, “I’ll stop teasing.” 

The two of you sit in silence for a while, and though it is difficult to determine an animal’s mood—even if said animal is really just a person in disguise—you’d like to think it’s as comfortable for him as it is for you. Your hand still rests on his head, between his ears where you’d left it. Every once in a while they flick or twitch, making you smile. 

“You know,” you begin, voice low and lethargic as the warmth of the fire begins to seep into your bones, “I was beginning to think you only transformed in battle.” 

He sniffs once, but otherwise doesn’t answer—which makes sense, because his mouth isn’t really made for speech in this form. You actually shudder to think what a wolf’s voice might sound like. 

“It must be useful in the wintertime.” 

A sort of grunting noise—you think it’s meant to agree. 

He looks so peaceful lying there, gazing with half-lidded eyes at the burning wood. Every once in a while he’ll give one of those big sighs that dogs do when they’re relaxing. 

You know you should probably get up and start dinner, but there’s something about this moment that you don’t want to break. You curl up against his warming side instead and enjoy a rare moment when the chill of the castle can’t reach you. When he lifts his head a bit to glance at you, perhaps in confusion, you hush him softly and scratch behind his ears. 

There’s another little grumble, but your eyes have already drifted shut in your contentment. He rests his head back on his paws, his tail thumping rhythmically against the wood of the floor, and watches as you lie there. 

It’s hard to say which of you falls asleep first, but it’s hours before you wake again—to a thick blanket wrapped around you and a plush pillow under your head. 

In your grogginess you vaguely register Adrian perched silently beside you, tending the fire as it pops and crackles on into the night. He doesn’t say anything, just hushes you gently and strokes your hair until you close your eyes again. 


	5. A Little Spark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which sparks fly in more ways than one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am once again uploading without thorough proofreading :,) sorry I’ll run through it later

“Adrian!” You nearly trip over your own feet in your hurry, bustling through the castle halls in your search for him. “Adrian!” 

Your breathless shouts bear fruit soon enough—you nearly bumble right into the door to his study as it is swinging open. His golden eyes are wide, lips parted slightly as if he’d been only seconds from returning your frantic calls. 

His hands are the only things that stop you from bowling him right over; they grip your arms firmly just above the elbow and bring you to a screeching halt inches from his chest. 

He doesn’t give you enough time to catch your breath so that you may pass on the news that has you so frazzled, the hands that kept you steady are suddenly fluttering up around your face. They brush stray hair from your eyes and tilt your chin upwards—and you’re briefly reminded of all those times as a child when you’d come to your parents wailing your little eyes out and they’d spent several panicked minutes trying to understand what had gone wrong. 

“What is it?” He asks, and the concern in his tone makes your heart skip a beat. “What’s happened? Are you injured?” 

You’d taken up training the way Trevor had been teaching you again, deciding to put the weapons in the old armory to good use and keep yourself occupied, and only recently had Adrian stopped insisting he be in the same room in case something were to go wrong. You figure that’s as good a sign as any that you’re becoming better with a blade, but it would seem the idea of leaving you on your own still has him a bit on edge. 

Really, you think and try to convince yourself you are more exasperated than touched, that isn’t even what I was up to this time! 

“What? No!” You assure him after several moments of trying to beat away that flustered feeling all this attention is giving you. You reach up and take his hands in each of your own, redirecting his attention to your eyes. The way he looks at you nearly has you breathless all over again. “I’m  fine , Adrian, I promise.” 

“There it is, again.” He murmurs. He studies your face, brows furrowing ever-so-slightly as he does—it’s like he’s trying to figure you out. “I didn’t even think you remembered.” 

“Remembered what?” You stare like a deer caught in headlights. Had you upset him, somehow? 

“My name.” 

You nearly swallow your tongue. 

It’s true you’d thought of him as Adrian all this time, even if you’d stuck to outwardly referring to him with the same moniker the people of Wallachia had bestowed upon him. It had been what he’d first introduced himself as, and  _ Alucard _ had always seemed less personable somehow. A soldier’s rank, or a title. 

Both a torch he carries and a cross he bears. 

Still, you’d never meant to call him by his given name unless he’d specifically asked you to—there are a thousand ways that could go wrong. 

“I’m so sorry...” You wince in something akin to shame. 

“Why?” He quirks a brow at you like you’ve gone mad. “Unless you’re apologizing for nearly giving me a heart attack with all your shrieking—that would be fair enough.” 

You grin sheepishly. “You don’t mind?” You ask, taking a step back before your face positively bursts into flame. “The name part, I mean. I  _ am _ sorry about the other thing.” 

He seems to realize how close he’d been standing to you, cheeks flushing as he clears his throat and averts his eyes. He stands back even further, allowing you the space to enter the room with him—which you do gladly. 

“It’s the name my parents chose for me,” he replies simply, softly. There’s a bittersweet look in his eyes, and for a moment he seems to be staring into the past itself before he returns to the present with a quiet sigh. 

“It is not something I would simply rid myself of entirely, like trash. Alucard is simply what the people call me—a reminder of my role. My part to play as the one to save them from my father’s wrath.” 

“You don’t like it and you still let us call you that?” 

He gives a wry smile, sinking gracefully into the chair in the center of the room. You notice the book he must’ve been reading before you’d interrupted, place being held by the arm of the chair it sits on—balancing precariously. “I don’t like or dislike it—it is merely something to refer to me by.” He pauses a moment, considering you. “It’s been quite some time since I’ve heard anything else. It’s not so bad, I think.” 

“Oh,” you reply intelligently, shifting weight from foot to foot. “Then I guess we’ll keep it.” 

He doesn’t react, save for a happy little gleam in his eye. 

“Now, I believe there was something you needed?” At your obvious confusion he rolls his eyes and huffs, “Whatever had you screaming like a banshee through the halls?” 

“Right!” He seems taken aback by how quickly all trace of hesitancy leaves you, and your entire face brightens up as if it is a star that has fallen from the sky above. 

You are practically bouncing, and he’s sure he hasn’t ever seen you quite this beside yourself with excitement before. “I have something to show you! I’ve been working on it for a while, now, and I think I’ve finally got it figured out.” 

All those nights scouring the shelves of the Belmont hold have paid off with interest. You’ve since lost count of how many hours of sleep have been lost to this pursuit as you sat awake in your room exhausting yourself with training you hadn’t even been sure would work in the end. 

There had been several times where you’d almost thrown in the towel, but after today you’re endlessly glad you never had. 

Adrian is giving you his undivided attention, even when confusion visibly takes him as you cup your hands in front of you—like you’re holding water. 

You have no doubt in your ability—not with the ever-present heat that builds inside you whenever he looks at you like that. You focus solely on the space above your open palms, and you  _ concentrate _ . 

It starts as a tingling in your skin, in the space around you. It’s like lightning is about to strike, electrifying the atmosphere. You buzz with it, as if it is a frequency with which your mind longs to harmonize. 

It takes a moment to match with it, but when you do you  _ feel _ it. You align with it in its entirety. Sweat pinpricks your brow—the effort as much physical as it is mental. 

You breathe deep and it’s like striking a match—the air sizzles and pops and your palms heat in a way you think should be painful. 

It probably would be if the ball of spherical fire hovering above your skin wasn’t your own. 

“Look, I’m doing it, look!” 

You glance up to meet eyes with Adrian, but he is staring in awe at your little act of magic. He stands slowly, approaching step by cautious step as if worried he might break your concentration and ruin your moment of triumph. 

“You learned this on your own?” He asks, sounding almost as breathless as you had a moment ago when you’d burst in rushing to show him. “You weren’t training with Sypha?” 

You shake your head enthusiastically, grin so wide it threatens to split your face. 

“This is all me.” You say, “Self-taught and everything. I’m my best student.” 

Adrian’s lips twitch upward, and a moment later a full-blown smile takes hold. He whispers your name, and your stomach flips. “I don’t think you realize how incredible that is.” He finally meets your eyes and the way he looks sincerely  _proud_ of you has your breath stuck sideways in your throat. “All on your own? Truly?” 

You nod, finding it’s the only reliable form of communication you have left. 

“You’re a marvel.” He chuckles, and you let the fire fizzle out slowly lest you send it flying in shocked embarrassment. “Magic is a learned skill, yes but it’s incredibly complex. That you’ve managed to grasp it so quickly with no outside help is no small accomplishment.” 

“Well, I may have tagged in a Belmont or two.” You nod in the direction of the hold with a sheepish smile. 

He laughs softly again. “And yet my point stands all the same. Let me know should you ever wish for formal lessons—I’d be more than happy to assist if it’s something you wish to pursue.” 

You bounce on the balls of your feet, face brightening once more. 

“Really!? When can we start?”   
  


He grins fondly at your enthusiasm. “How about right now?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can I just thank y’all for indulging me here? We passed 100 so quickly and I super appreciate all the feedback


	6. Dinnertime Discussions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something about curiosity, a cat, and satisfaction.

“Do you even need blood?” 

Adrian perks up, but he’s busy chopping up more onions to go in the stew so he doesn’t look at you when you ask it. 

Still, he’s silent for long enough that you worry you might’ve prodded a sore spot with your questions. 

You’re curious about a lot when it comes to Adrian, you’ll admit. Most of it is even professional. It’s been a struggle spacing out your inquiries days, sometimes weeks, in between so that you don’t risk overwhelming him—or worse, sounding as though you don’t trust him. 

You don’t think there’s a delicate way to ask about his diet, though, which is why you’ve chosen to just barrel on through and hope that your time together would be enough to assure him that you aren’t asking out of anything other than morbid curiosity. 

When the silence stretches on for a few moments more than you’re truly comfortable with, you sigh deeply and begin drafting your three-part apology in your head.

“That was...well, it wasn’t exactly the best way to phrase it, I don’t think, I just—“ 

The chuckle takes you by surprise. 

“My, my, aren’t we growing comfortable here?” He angles his head so that he can glance over his shoulder at you from the corner of his catlike eye. “In our spooky castle with our hospitable vampire host?” 

The pout weighs your lips down enough to make that eye glitter with mirth. 

“Oh _come_ on!” You nearly whine, “I really thought you were upset with me!” 

His musical laugh threatens to make you smile in return, but you are well-versed in your stubbornness and you hold fast to the petulance you feel. 

“I had wondered when the discussion would come about.” 

He scoops up the chopped onions in both palms as one might cradle a baby chick, sweeping over to dump the handful into the simmering pot. Then, wiping his hands on his pant legs, he turns to you and leans against the counter behind him. 

He crosses his arms and studies you thoughtfully. “You held out for an impressive amount of time, I’ll give you that.” 

“I trust you, for the record!” 

You stammer through the declaration—one you feel compelled to make now that you’re looking him in the face—partly due to your rush, but also because saying it so genuinely has the heat rising to your cheeks again. It so often does around him, and you assume he has noticed by now. 

“I don’t think you would ever, like... _pounce_ on me, or anything. At least not without—“

You cut yourself off before you can continue down that train of thought, but the playful twitch of his lips signals it’s too late. Your cheeks burn hot.

“Permission?” He finishes for you, eyebrow arching. Something darkens in his eyes, just a hair. “Permission to pounce on you?” 

You know you’re probably imagining the way his voice dips just a bit lower than usual, but that logic doesn’t stop you from nearly melting in your chair. You meet his eyes, smiling innocently with all the effort of someone lifting the moon. 

“You know what I mean.” 

“I suspect I do.” 

The moment disperses as if the tension in the atmosphere is a squirming animal he’d finally deigned to release, and you exhale a breath you’d unknowingly been holding hostage in your chest. 

“To answer your question—I can subsist on either one,” his tone returns to normal, further convincing you that it had been nothing more than a joke, “food or blood. Either or both.” 

“Oh,” you mutter. 

_No_ , that  _wasn’t_ disappointment in your voice. 

If he notices anything about your reaction, he says nothing. “Blood...has a certain quality to it that food does not. If I’m freshly fed I find my magic is stronger— _I_ am stronger.” 

“You’re  _always_ strong.” You point out, and he grins. 

“Why, thank you.” He teases, pretending to preen, “Always stronger than normal humans, yes. That does not mean I can’t be stronger, still.” 

You try to imagine Adrian, the man who had punched and tackled his own father through several walls, being any stronger than he had been then—not having fed on anything other than a handful of dried meat while you’d all camped out in the Belmont Hold. It’s not something easily pictured, similar to trying to imagine a number above a hundred or so. 

“You could probably lift a whole building if you wanted to.” 

“Oh, hardly.” He laughs lightly again, waving off the awe in your voice. Seemingly deciding the stew has sat for long enough, he finally moves to dish it into the bowls you’d set out earlier, and then slices a few pieces of the fresh bread you’d baked together. “Even if I could, I can’t imagine my back would appreciate such a feat.” 

You wait until he pours himself a glass of wine and sits before you begin to eat, always eager to dig into anything he makes when it’s his turn to cook. Absently, you wonder if he ever gets as excited for your cooking. It’s a nice thought, one that makes you smile into your food whether it’s true or not. 

“So...”

He glanced up at you, patient smile in place. 

“There’s more?” He kids, making you smile sheepishly. 

“I can stop.” 

“Curiosity is something that has existed within these walls for centuries; I would not be the one to douse its flame.” 

You drum your fingertips against the wood of the table. “Do you...crave it? I mean like full-blooded vampires seem to?” 

He pauses and thinks on this for a moment, pondering over a bite of bread. “I suppose I do, as a child might crave an after-dinner sweet, or a smoker his pipe.” He sips from his glass before continuing. “Not quite so much as Trevor craves the bottle.” 

You giggle behind your hand. “I think anyone would be hard-pressed to be more passionate than Trevor is about his beer.” 

“The urge grows as I lean on it more for nourishment. As I live now, it’s little more than an occasionally nagging sweet tooth. You needn’t worry.” 

Aside from a small smile, he adopts a more serious demeanor. He’s sure to look you right in the eye as he says it. “I know you said you trust me—and you should know that means the world to me—but it’s important to me that I say it at least once, anyway.” 

He reaches across the table and placed his hand over your own. His skin is smooth, comfortably warm. You turn your palm up to meet his almost instinctively. 

“I...” you murmur, at a loss.

“There isn’t a craving on this earth strong enough to make me harm you. Your companionship is far too valuable to me to jeopardize it in such a way.” 

Your heart swells. You blink rapidly and nod, smiling as best you can manage. When his hand leaves yours it’s like you can still feel it there. A phantom comfort. 

“It probably means less when I’m nowhere near being in a position to hurt you...” you say quietly, suddenly very intent on studying your bowl of stew, “but I feel the same way.” 

“Oh, I wouldn’t sell yourself short—your lessons are coming along well enough.” He says jovially to lighten the mood. “Even if your skill with a sword is still lacking...” 

Your foot connects with his shin, and the face he makes is as close to a pout as a dignified, princely man such as him gets. 

“Did you not just get done declaring that nothing in the world could make you hurt me?” 

“It would seem your big mouth is something altogether otherworldly.”

His laugh fills the dining room,and at that point resisting a smile seems an impossible task for you. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wrote this one much too late when I couldn’t sleep. :,) pretty sure it was presentable.


End file.
